


Against His Better Judgement

by god0trash



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Felix is a Serial Killer, M/M, Police Officer Locus, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/god0trash/pseuds/god0trash
Summary: Isaac Gates is a serial killer who easily slips under the radar and avoids the confrontation of law enforcement. Samuel Ortez is a homicide detective with the LAPD who has made it his life's goal to bring down as many mass murderers and serial killers as he can, despite the costs. Sometimes though, morals and better judgement seem to fly out the window in situations that one would never think would happen to them.





	Against His Better Judgement

Murder has a myriad of motivations, for revenge, to settle a grudge, to obtain power, out of a fit of betrayal. To shoot a cheating spouse, to stab an abuser or rapist until their blood drains from their body, to suffocate a rival until their corpse hangs limp. Others kill under a false guise of justice, under the delusion that extinguishing those that escaped the hands of the law, would make you a hero and a bringer of righteousness rather than just another criminal that would eventually be detained or struck down by someone of your own kind. Killers all have different reasons, which may not be visible clearly at a surface level. But Samuel Ortez had dedicated his life to finding the motives and means of these monsters, and to bring them down, no matter their intention. In such a field of work as dangerous as his, they often used code names and aliases in order to disguise their true identities, so a vengeful murderer that either escaped the system or has served their time and was infuriated for being put away in the first place, would have a tougher time tracking them down. Locus was the alias he chose and was known as in the field, but that hadn’t stopped attacks against him in the past. His line of work isn’t pristine nor does it protect one fully, he had battle scars from missions, some he was more uneasy about displaying than others. Two unsightly scars that blended into one forming an X that crossed at the bridge of his nose making those strips of skin slightly lighter than his typical sepia brown shade that covered him, just sparing his light gray eyes from injury. Typically, Locus covered this up with a thin concealer, which normally took care of the blemish. It was more for his benefit, not so much how he is perceived. He heavily disliked seeing the reminder every time he looked in the mirror or being largely reminded of it by someone’s lingering gaze or a thoughtless inquiry. The makeup combined with his largely built and intimidating presence normally dissuaded anyone from asking too many questions.

 

The assumption that all killers are alike and they must have some outside motive is a prime aspect in what makes it much easier for those who murder for unconventional purposes. One such example is Isaac Gates, or Felix, as he presented himself as to his victims. Why the codename, one may ask, well his mindset had this lined up in case one of his playthings escaped his grasp and squealed to the authorities, (not that it has ever happened before) or in the case that he wanted to have a little fun with his prey before the kill, he didn’t want his true identity being leaked to the LAPD. Felix was quite proud of his work and he relished in it. The taking of others’ lives served as both a therapeutic experience and an exciting pass time for him. A bit past three in the morning, Felix was just returning to his seedy motel, one that didn’t ask questions, knowing very well what clientele it served. He stepped into the bathroom and admired the way the still moist blood glistened on his defined cheek when the light hit it at the right angle. While he was a relatively thin man, he had a lot of hidden muscle to him, which explained how he was able to so easily take others down. His tired green eyes gleamed in the dim bathroom lighting, contrasting with his soot black hair tipped with an intense orange dye. He picked up a face cloth and wiped it across his thin jawline and around the rest of his face, being a bit more careful around the two metal studs protruding from his right eyebrow. Tossing the rag aside, he took a moment to contemplate whether or not he had the energy to continue cleaning up. Deciding he would rather exhaust himself than go to be bloody, he shed his “work clothes” and slipped into the shower. The water pressure was more like someone squirting him with a water gun, but the heat in the water was enough to balance out the sub-par plumbing. Taking his time to wash himself and rid his skin of any foreign residue from his earlier kill, he soon emerged from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, taking time to swiftly run his razor along his jawline to keep his stubble from getting too long, and he figured it was about time for him to rest. Haphazardly drying himself enough that he could comfortably slip his boxer briefs on, he tucked his trusty blade underneath his pillow and slugged across the room to flip off the lightswitch, when a knock on his motel door stopped him in his tracks.

No one knew he was here. He didn’t associate with anyone, other than his weapons dealer and some people who needed a certain person to disappear, but he never would be stupid enough to share personal information or his location. Just where to leave the money. He reached over to the bureau and grabbed his glock and raised it into position, creeping towards the door. A piece of paper slipped under the door and footsteps outside told him whoever was out there was retreating. Swiftly, he grabbed the paper and read it to himself;

 

**_They’ve been watching the building. Be safe. Don’t get caught._ **

 

He sighed a long breath of relief, it was the management, alerting it’s residents that the LAPD had recently been lingering around the building, knowing very well that many criminals used the motel as a home base. Felix wouldn’t be dumb enough to somehow get caught just due to the police wandering around looking for some robber or some shit like that. After making sure the deadbolt and chain are locked on the door, he flipped off the light and threw himself into bed, passing out almost immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be an ongoing thing if I can maintain the energy and motivation to write it, so this isn't the end by any means!


End file.
